Capitulate
by BadTimesDontLast
Summary: There's a bit of resistance in Punk's motions. Lying to himself isn't helping. Dean fixes everything in his own chaotic way. (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk) Slash, pure smut. (Shield days)
**This is incredibly different to what I usually write and I may have gotten super carried away with it… it follows IrishCreamTruffle's Citi Soleil, which is of course a sequel of Helter Skelter, the sequel of mxjoyride's Ice Cold. I know,** _ **I know,**_ **long winded but read those since they are before this. They're fantastic, but you don't have to if you don't want to.**

 **Definite M rating, so if you don't like slash, don't read. Set during the Shield days where Dean was muscled out and CM Punk was still there. (Dean's still gorgeous, abs are great)**

 **Onward!**

* * *

 _The need is thrumming up his cock, Punk is unable to hold still as Dean's hand jerks around him. It's warm, callouses galore, yet he's only giving Punk gentle strokes, so gentle that Punk doesn't comprehend why the fuck he's moaning all over the place. Dean's hand twisted on the downstroke, grip tightening as Punk gasps for air as if Dean's hand is tightening around his throat. The free hand is nowhere near Punk's throat however, but the difficulty to breathe is still very much alive as he feels Dean's bulging crotch scrape at his exposed ass. Dean isn't even trying to grind into him, no, Punk's the one pushing back, trying to avoid the force that the hand at his cock is providing. There's no escapade to be found, a myriad of moans slipping from Punk's lips as Dean moves his hand faster, a chuckle leaving from his lips. He always laughs when Punk is teetering, knowing that only Dean could push him off that beautiful edge that elicited screams. The hand at Punk's aching cock doesn't stop, speed dwindling as he precariously pushes his hips back again. Why the fuck does he want Dean's dick so fucking bad? And why won't Dean just give it to him instead of a hand torturing him to the demise too quickly?_

" _Fuck me, please,"_ Punk begs, drawling out his words as his head falls back in ecstasy. The water flows over his facial structure, his imagination wishing and cursing that he'd rather have hot seed there in that area. _Dean's_ hot seed. Why…? Why? _Fucking why?_

Punk is fucking his cock in his own hand now, hips pushing and thrusting with wanton need as he pushes his head into the tile of the shower wall. There's no mirth in what he's doing to himself as his reverie continues, holding off because he knows that's what _Dean would like._ Fucking hell, Punk feels the qualm, and his back arches despite himself. Dean… oh, that motherfucker was ruining his life and he hadn't seen him in a week. On screen didn't count. But he sure as hell _felt_ Dean after their encounter. Dean had the courtesy however of leaving his now stretched out t-shirt in the locker room for him. Punk did the same, the message being distributed well that Dean had gotten his gear back. Punk whimpered, thumb drifting over his leaking tip as he pumped himself. His body ached the next day, the timorous feeling to sit down not subsiding until he deemed it safe. But Punk didn't want the pain to go away, because that's when realization hit him that he _needed_ Dean to _fuck him_ over and over again. The pain disappearing was a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach. With pain gone, it meant Dean was gone. Punk needed Dean everywhere. The resistance that Punk put forth was stupidity, contemplating in the interim how good Dean would use him.

Thrusting. Pounding. Rotating.

Punk's hand that had been supporting his weight on the tile formed into a tight fist, knuckles pigmented white as he beat himself off to his fantasy harder. Pressure danced along his member, just imagining that Dean was whispering explicit utterances into the shell of Punk's ear. Everything is in shambles, shred as if it's been put through a lion's den. The lion in this situation was Dean, Punk needing to be his prey because his pleasure has never reached _those_ heights like they did with Dean. 'Sky's the limit' was a fucking understatement. There was no limit. Only new records. And fuck, he was willing to sacrifice his body to set a new record.

 _Dean finally pushes into him, and Punk shudders, tensing as he's told in whispers to relax. He doesn't. He just pushes back on Dean's cock, earning a growl from the other. Punk just couldn't help himself. It felt too sensational, the heat that was radiating throughout his 's the one who makes the rules though in an ironic twist, enforcing them since he's the law. And hell, he's the judge, jury, and executioner that establishes Punk's 's jurisdiction is absolutely, wonderfully chaotic. Punk's then pounded into and he falls apart. Ee-fucking-mediate-lee too. How could he fucking last? He's never known no greater pleasure and he chastises himself for being so incredibly weak for Dean. Punk's disturbed by the fact that Dean's cock quenches his needs, the masculinity he provokes sending his senses straight to hell for all the sin that's drenching them._

"Shit," he groans, hips finally stilling, stroking himself as his cum splatters onto the sheened walls of the shower. The residue is seeping down his length, down his thighs as he sighs and slumps into the falling water. His hand can't possibly pleasure him forever, the orator of his mind decides. He's satisfied, but not _satisfied._ The use of his hand had been fervent in the past few days. The Shield was busy. Punk couldn't barge into there, possibly catch two of the men, maybe three, in the act of… God knows what, but by Dean's brief description as he fucked Punk's ass, Punk was very aware that it would turn him on to no ends. That's what pissed him off. How much he needs Dean when the other man had just stuck his dick inside of him.

Except, it was the most intense orgasm of his life. It wasn't just penetration. Punk wanted to collide back into that pleasure again, be sheathed in it like Dean was sheathed in him. But Punk's mind wouldn't dare beg nor ask. He wanted Dean to be the predator again, make Dean feel like he was the one chasing his ass. Punk couldn't give the bastard the satisfaction that he was right about everything. _Oh so fucking right_.

* * *

Punk was bouncing his legs impatiently, staring at the text he had sent minutes before for the thousandth time.

 _ **Need your fucking mouth on me right now.**_

Had he been too pushy? Punk didn't really care. He just wanted to get Dean in here and challenging him like he forgot about their fuck was the perfect way to go. The transgression would stop Dean from thinking that Punk wanted him to fuck him. Yet, Punk didn't understand Ambrose. The fucker was volatile, unpredictable, and those were all the elements that Punk needed. Rivet Dean's calm. The calm before the delicious, tendril seeping, low rumbling brontide of a storm.

There's a knock at the door, done coolly, no crescendo evident that shows any rush. It's laid back, smug in its own right, care lacking in it if the door would open up or not. It's _Dean._ It just has to be.

Punk locks his jaw, tightens it even as he inhales a deep breath to try and shake off the _slutty_ thoughts. His heretic demeanor was pulled forward, waiting a while (he didn't want to seem eager) before he approaches the door. It's brought open after the handle is made use of, Dean's two hundred and twenty-five pound frame standing there. He's sweaty, but his hair is drying, looking both dark and blond at the same fucking time. That's right, house shows called for the Shield to prolong their stay. But Punk wasn't complaining as he saw Dean roll his shoulders, broad shoulders that were glistening just as his arms were. His hand is at his chest, fingers hypnotically tapping his collarbone that was underneath the tight concealing factor of the opaque shirt.

"You going to let me in there, sweetheart? Or are you just going to _stare_ all night?" Dean asked, the steady rhythm of his fingers interlacing with his expression that reeked of being only complacent as it always was. The curve at the corner of his mouth that just shows off his smirk doesn't help Punk any.

Door widening, Punk steps away from him, already looking like he's walking further into the room. He's cut short immediately as Dean grabs Punk's hips and forces him tightly against him. The door shuts on its own, loud to anyone; Punk's grateful that it did because he didn't want anyone to walk by and see what was going to happen. Dean may have been proud, though. Showing the onlooker how hard he could really go. Oh Punk, if only he knew…

They stay there in what feels like forever, Dean pompously drifting his large hands from Punk's hips straight up to massage Punk's chest. "When I saw your text, I was infuriated by the fact that you were already back to your _selfish_ needs. You know, the need of having my throat around that dick that just so happens to hide the true need in ya'." Dean's drifting his hands to the hem of Punk's shirt, toying with it in his fingers as he clicks his teeth. "What you _really_ need," making himself clear, Dean lets his teeth drag along Punk's ear. Punk missed this, feeling controlled by Dean's mannerisms. Dean can just never keep his hands to himself. Punk doesn't him want him to, but he stays stiff as a board, hands coming over Dean's.

Dean barked in laughter, half expecting Punk to stop him while the other _knowing_ half knew he wasn't going to do shit. Dean ensues that Punk wants him to touch him, no actual enmity being evident with how Punk's hands just stay still, no force behind them whatsoever. The pernicious demeanor that Dean holds mixed with his flippant smugness doesn't drop for a solitary second. "Then I got to thinking… you haven't contacted me in a week, no connection whatsoever." Dean's hot breath hit Punk's neck, lips probing the flesh as he drug his mouth along him. Punk can feel Dean's sweat falling onto him. For some reason that he can't understand, he wants to lick those beads of sweat. His taste buds seem to be on fire to get _any_ taste of Dean. Punk's willing to endure the menial tasks, stop questioning his longing for a moment, fulfill it instead.

Teeth are scraping on Punk's neck, lips caressing him too sweetly and almost lovingly. The moist tongue Dean has drags up Punk's neck, back to his ear, nibbling onto the lobe as he lets go of the hem. Just as Dean had suspected, Punk's hands are still on his as he slips them underneath his sweats, no boxers to be found. His palms meet balls, massaging in circular motions just as he had been doing on Punk's chest. Punk is just tensing against him, stiff without thought of being eternally circuitous. Dean triumphantly squeezes, Punk gasping and leaning back into the other's brawling figure of a body.

His back meets a strong chest, Dean's heart at a steady rhythm while Punk's, embarrassingly, is quickening, palpitations increasing that he knows just matches his throbbing. "And you finally do so. Texting me to suck your cock even after I gave you what you _really_ needed." There goes Dean again, emphasizing that word. He could easily get lewd and say the words, but he likes as Punk squirms in memory.

"I think you're full of shit. Sure, a blowjob would be great, but what you really want?" Dean's hand found Punk's erection, stroking to where he pressed his thumb into the slit. It was wet. Of course it was. Much to Dean's amusement and confirmation, Punk's been hard since even before he sent the message. It's painstakingly obvious.

Punk's breathing is growing shallow, unable to move. Pushing his ass into Dean's crotch would give it away too easily. Pushing Punk's cock into Dean's hand would mean that he just wanted relief in that area, satisfaction. But no. As heavenly as Dean's mouth was, Punk didn't _need_ oral.

Dean keeps his grip tight, thumb circling over Punk's tip with a pressure that leaves the man whimpering. Punk is behaving a lot better than the last time. It makes Dean's cock jump in excitement inside of his black cargo pants.

Punk's hands are back over Dean's, trying to gain more friction despite the ongoing war in Punk's mind. "... What you really want is _my cock,"_ Dean finished his sentence off from earlier before his hands left from Punk's hard length. Finally, Punk is able to shrink away from him, gaining power and defiance to test Dean's cool standpoint.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" Punk grunted, facing Dean fully. His arms are across his chest, Punk having to make it look like he wasn't giving in. His mind kept saying not to, but his body… it was yearning for _anything_ Dean had to offer. Dean rolls his eyes, harshly capturing Punk's chin into his hand. Dean wants Punk to crumble, but he's defiantly pushing him away. His icy orbs are traveling over Punk's facial structure, ready to pull the nascent stage of fury. It's then in that moment that Dean sees something in particular on Punk's face. From being on the point of rage, he's quickly shifted into the domain of laughable desire. A chuckle leaves from his mouth as his hands moved to Punk's shoulders, pushing the man down to his knees. Punk is confused, but he barely puts up a fight as he's forced to kneel in front of Dean, trying to keep his eyes away from the bulging area.

Dean is petting Punk, goading him as he runs his fingertips through the light stubble and then through his hair. The same fingers are massaging Punk's scalp, darkened eyes looking straight at Punk's face that stared up at him in complete bewilderment. "You do remember well what occurred last week. Wanna know how I know?"

Punk's eyebrows are knitting together now, not wanting to play Dean's games since they always ended in humiliation. A blissful, fucking humiliation. Dean expected Punk to answer in silence as he uses his hand to tilt his face up by his chin again. A smirk is completely evident, smug mug plastered. Punk can't decipher why the hell Dean just keeps staring at him like that. When he was standing erect in front of Dean, Punk was seconds from getting exactly what he _needed_ from Dean, to be used, only for it to be ripped away.

"Because that _slutty lip ring_ is back. Just _for me."_ Dean growls, thumb drifting over the piercing. Shit. Punk could've at least been more discreet about it. But it gave him away completely.

"Do you remember _why_ I liked it?" He asked, but fuck, he already knew that Punk was fully aware of why. Dean's fingers just went to where they originally were: kept on massaging Punk's head as he chuckles darkly, letting his words drawl on.

 _Of course._

Dean isn't expecting Punk to answer, and when he does, he's thoroughly surprised. "Because you bet that it would feel amazing once my lips were on…" he trailed off, body tensing at the image already sinking into his head. Punk's flushed again, both embarrassed yet glad that he chose sweats to wear so his cock could grow freely. Dean on the other hand was going to have to deal with the painful problem of growing into his zipper. _Fuck,_ he already was dealing with it.

Teeth came down onto Dean's bottom lip as he watched Punk's gaze shift to his crotch that was close to the tip of his nose. "Shit, you really do want my cock, don't you?" Dean knew the answer. Punk didn't fucking know why he had to ask him and make him try to say it. But Punk doesn't say a damn word much to Dean's dismay, keeps himself silent after his low utterance that was barely explicit, yet its context screamed sexual.

There's skittish movements done in how Punk begins to free Dean of his pants. Dean, still a bit shocked, just watches in complete deafening silence as Punk fumbles with the concept, and the cargo material, oh so obviously. Dean knows Punk hasn't done this, and even though he lacked skill, he felt himself even harder than before. The zipper is worked down after the belt had been pulled out of the loops of Dean's pants. Cargo material is brought down powerful thighs, no rush being made by Dean, but by Punk instead. Dean badly wants to tell him to relax, but he doesn't want to ruin the moment. What he wants to ruin is Punk's pretty mouth. The material of Dean's boxers is stretching, and Punk is panicking on the inside to the point of where he feels he might self destruct. He didn't have much of a praise kink, but chagrin wasn't something that he wanted to happen _at all._ One look up changes his mind. Dean's watching him, expression impassively solemn as his eyes coax Punk to go on.

Punk lets his fingers finally get to the waistband of Dean's boxers, drifting the material down his legs for Dean's cock to spring to life. Punk hadn't seen the long, thickness before. He just recalled that it was buried in him to the hilt. Shivering at the thought, Punk licked the head of the cock in front of him, earning him a mere grunt. Precum hit at his tongue and… the taste… He wants more of it. It's an augur that there's a dam to be broken, contents flowing freely once the wall cracked. Taking a deep breath, he goes in for it, getting _more_ was the carnage of a goal he set. A blushing tint of deep crimson, not as deep colored as Dean's cock, is forming along Punk's chest and face as he wraps his lips around and just toys with the tip using his tongue. When he's ready, Punk takes more of Dean's cock into his mouth, enveloping it into a moist warmth as his lip ring scraped along the rigid veins just as teeth did. Dean cursed, groaning deeply as he tangled his fingers into Punk's hair, holding his head steady against him.

"You should've been sucking cock a long time ago." Dean lets out, taunting in his own odd form of adulation telling Punk to keep on going. Punk feels defiance surging through his pores, hands coming up to massage Dean's hips. _More, fucker._ Punk hollows his cheeks, closing his eyes and praying to the heavens that he won't gag or splutter on Dean as his mouth begins to stretch down further. A blunt swallow is done and Punk feels his own cock leaking. _Fuck,_ he really _should've_ been sucking cock a long time ago. In apprehension of his fleeing embarrassment, Punk drug his lips all the way up Dean's cock before he went down in one quick motion and swallowed Dean to where he nestled in the orifice of his throat. Dean moaned out in obscenity, pleasure shot like a bullet straight up his spine. Punk was comfortable now… obviously _really_ comfortable that his mouth was stuffed with cock and he seemed to be enjoying it. Maybe it's because it's _Dean's cock_ that his mouth is stuffed with. He can't possibly figure it out, but he doesn't need to. He just has to _do._

Punk is just swallowing, trying so hard to get Dean's entire length in, but it's impossible without tears forming at his eyes. Instead, his head bobs on him, working the tip with a swipe and swirl of his tongue. Dean's moaning—Punk's just sucking his cock like a pro. All while the ring on his lip continuously drags in friction against Dean's foreskin. Dean was right. _It did feel amazing._ Punk's mouth is greedy, devouring Dean's cock with everything he has, deep breaths taken in through his nostrils. He was a natural. He drifted off of the darkly shaded cock to drag his mouth down to his balls, licking over them, attempting to take them into his mouth. Dean's legs are tensing, giving out on him as he watches Punk sluttily work him over all while gasps, grunts, and _moans_ fill the room. Punk moans in reaction, erotically pushed to do so, unaware that the action sends a vibration up Dean's groin. A shockwave shoots through his length's entirety and oh he fucking knows that he's too turned on and too self indulgent to step back and deny that he wanted to fuck Punk until he was screaming for him.

Dean pushed Punk's mouth off of him before pulling him up by the shoulders. It's done so fast that Punk is nearly knocked off balance, but Dean is there to catch him, unable to let the motherfucker fall after _that,_ hungrily capturing his mouth with his. Dean's pushing Punk back, falling on top of him when Punk's back unceremoniously meets the mattress. Jesus, he kisses Dean back, but he can't possibly keep up with how Dean is in full control of the kiss, tongue plunging in to explore. Punk pulls Dean closer by the neck, feeling the rock hard length that had been in his mouth earlier thrusting for friction against his neglected erection. A strangled groan is swallowed by Dean's hot mouth, his hand burying straight into Punk's hair so he could force him into his face. It worked, tonsil hockey being played with Dean's tongue being the one to make it down Punk's throat. Points scored, chalked up for pride, going straight for the win.

They separate for Punk to gasp heavily for air as Dean uses the moment to remove the tight shirt, tossing it aside. He wants to be completely bare for this. Punk does the same, removing his own shirt as his hands latch onto the waistband of his sweats. Dean's hand stops him, darkly grinning. "Leave those on, _I_ want to be the one who rips them off." And he means it, seriously solemn, stepping up from the bed to fish two items needed in this. They're placed onto the nightstand, boots and socks kicked off so he could fully remove his pants and boxers that had been bunched at his calves. Punk is overlooking warily as his chest is heaving, having kept imagining another round with Dean, but now that it was here, he couldn't anticipate the next actions to save his life. A part of him didn't even want to. But, a small part, it kept fighting this, making it difficult to listen to that other roaring, vast majority of a part.

Dean pulls Punk up now, not a single damn given that he's bare while Punk's an article of clothing away. Dean smirks, just holding Punk by the roots of his hair, using the inches of height he has over him to full advantage as he holds Punk's head back. His own head barely dips, gliding the flat of his tongue over Punk's mouth, earning himself an aperture that's unsure. Dean keeps receiving unsure actions from Punk and it just pisses him off to no end, dark grin only there but as humourless as ever as he pushes his tongue into Punk's mouth. The pink muscle glides underneath Punk's, suction being created for a groan to be swallowed by Dean. He continues his actions, firmly kissing Punk with rolls of his tongue, just adding to the heat between them, the ambience of it all as there's no distance between them. Dean's heavy cock is pressing into Punk's hip, not Punk's aching crotch for some reason. As Dean's taste probes Punk completely, he releases his mouth, both of them taking a moment for air. Dean goes as far as sucking onto the ring on Punk's lip. It's Dean who finds composure first, watching how drunk Punk is off of him as he inhales heavy, beautifully shaky breaths.

Dean finds Punk's breathless state to be advantageous, hopping onto his opportunity as he speaks. "You want this so fucking bad, but something's stopping you. Something's telling you that you _need_ my cock while something else is telling you to _act_ like you don't," Dean is already walking them away from the bed as he talks, Punk closing his eyes tightly. Dean's right. _Fucker's always right._

"You took my cock like a slut, got harder off it too, but you're _still_ resisting," Dean's so hard that it's ludicrous at this point, but knowing what Punk needs isn't _enough._ It was enough last week, but now, Dean wants more from him. Because Dean fucking knows that he _can get more from him._ All it takes is simple persuasion, simple droll persuasion.

He and Punk are near the wall now, his legs stopping them where they stand so that Dean could just admire Punk's features appreciatively. Punk doesn't know where Dean is going with any of this, then again, Punk never does. He's not even sure if Dean ever knows where he's going. Actually, Punk's just one hundred percent sure that Dean for sure knows where he'll end up. It's a terrifying thought.

Dean's smile finally disappears as he lets out a deep sigh of aggravation, releasing Punk's hair. He knows what he wants to hear and not letting his hands touch Punk meant that no excuses could be made that Dean forced him. Dean never forces him. He knows that. Punk fucking needs this.

Punk's eyebrows crease at Dean, wanting his hand at his throat, barking orders at him so he could at least look like he was resisting, but the truth of it was that Punk didn't even want to resist deep inside. His pride just kept telling him no. "Tell me what you need," Dean commands, voice low, undeniably low as he stares daggers into Punk's eyes.

 _Punk. Is. Fucked._

And not in the way he wants. Not the way he _needs._

"You already know, fucker—" the words are barely finished as Dean loses it and latches his hand onto his throat. He's deathly solemn; fucking Christ, Dean is serious with every fiber in his being.

"Say it." Dean releases Punk's throat now, waiting. Waiting. _Waiting._

Punk opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It's an ongoing struggle in his brain. He wants satisfaction, but he doesn't want to give Dean _that_ satisfaction. It would destroy every bit inside of him, having to face the truth in all it's entirety. Punk isn't ready to face the music, palms coming over his red ears as he tries to ignore the harmonies. _Fucking say it._ There's no repose, his thoughts are colliding sporadically at letting Dean know that this evil feels good. That Punk _belongs_ there. It's lecherous, beckoning, and he wants to drown in it until every breath is gone. Swallowed into another's mouth. _Dean's mouth._ The guerilla that faces him, he's searching for a deus ex machina to arise so it would make this easier on him, but nothing comes and Punk is inevitably trapped by this fact, trapped by his brain. He's weak. _Weaker_ than he thought.

Dean grows impatient, moving away from Punk as he looks to his clothes, already looking to get back into them. _No-no-no!_ Punk's panicking, facade brought up.

"Where the fuck are you going?" He asks incredulously, but he receives no answer from Dean as he watches the man pick up his boxers that were meshing into his pants.

 _Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck._

 _Neither_ of them getting off? It breaks Punk. It fucking breaks him. And _finally_ , he launches at Dean, pushing him. "Fucking asshole, I need you. I _need_ cock. I _need_ it so fucking bad. I _need_ your cock, Dean. _I. Fucking. Need. It."_ Holy hell, Punk sounded, ironic considering his straight-edge lifestyle, like a druggie needing his fix. He did need his fix though. He _fucking did._ It just struck him hard that… he was _addicted_ to Dean.

Punk is slammed so hard stomach first into the wall that he forgets his surroundings for a moment. Dean's… fucking laughing in his ear, sending the sound straight to Punk's cock, feeling it just throb and tingle against the fabric of his sweats. "That's right, baby. I'll give you exactly what you _need."_ The growl also makes Punk tense, hands bracing on the wall as he feels Dean's heat move away from him. A harangue is scolding Punk for saying that, but there's so much relief in him for it at the same time. The inner conflict is soon going to be buried and he is grateful for it as he looks over his shoulder to see Dean's cock in a condom as his hands drench it in lube. Punk faces the wall again, watching that too overwhelming since his senses are on high alert, needing this to last for as long as it possibly can. Dean ends up behind him again, pulling down the sweats as he promised he would in a matter of seconds. With no hesitance present, Punk spreads his legs, hearing another chuckle escape from Dean's lips. _Smug bastard._ With his need flourishing, Dean presses a finger into Punk, the movement causing Punk to lean his head into the wall.

He had been thinking of doing that himself… but pride also meddled in that. Punk's thoughts quickly melt as Dean presses another into him, circling his entrance with a low whistle.

"Ass is still fucking tight even after our rendezvous," he growls with appreciation, curling his long fingers inside of Punk before he begins a slow pace, digging into him as far as he could possibly go. Punk's mewling at the familiar feeling, trying to reconcile himself as his cock is pressed between the lower portion of his stomach and the wall. Dean can't wait any longer, his fingers are brought out and he drags the very tip of himself along Punk's entrance, causing Punk to curl his fingers on the surface in front of him. It's like he was trying to grip sheets on a bed, but the wall won't mold into his hands. In the shower, his hand had to wind up into a tight fist, much like both of them were doing right now as he tried to regain _some_ control of himself at the very least. But control was evading him, ducking away as he tried to tackle it down. It ran from him, allowing him to get close enough before it snickered and moved swiftly away. The weird thing about it moving so quickly away is that he's starting to accept it, starting to accept that he doesn't want to have control anymore. He doesn't even want to chase it down any longer.

Then it happens, Dean's blunt length sinking slowly into the interstice of Punk's ass, a memorandum falling into both of their minds that this was went without for too long. Dean doesn't stop pushing until his balls touch the globes making Punk's ass, his cock just sheathed in the tight entryway. That pressure is back, sending rushes of pure heat into Punk's cock that's settled against the lower portion of his stomach and the wall the very same. He ponders if it's going to try and gain friction into the area, but not for long since his mind collapses in on itself as Dean starts thrusting in a rhythm. _Shit_ , Punk's head pushes forward into the wall, panting now as Dean's using him beautifully, stretching him. Just as he thought before, his cock is just scraping into the wall, being squeezed since his whole body is being rocked. Dean's cock is just acting as a crowbar, prying him wide open so he's able to just nail him straight through the wall in front of them. And it feels terribly, deliciously amazing.

There had been a misconception in awaiting their next entanglement instead of going out of their ways to do this more often. Punk's already deciding that he should've texted Dean earlier than he did, have him stow away from his Shield mates into a closet at the arena if they had to. Anything for this friction, for this pulsating rod to feel him to the brim. Dean feels like grabbing Punk's hips, but wihout even knowing it, Punk is pushing his ass back into him for every thrust that Dean is able to produce inside of him. The fact makes Dean smirk, panting as he licks a column up Punk's neck, earning him more sounds of broken whimpers. Dean finds Punk's wrists, letting his hands wrap around them in a soft vise, but as his speed increases, as Punk's walls squeeze his cock, he involuntarily has his grip go tighter. He uses his grip to pull Punk's arms behind his back, resting them on the small of it as he arches, Dean's cock shifting _even deeper_ into Punk. With Punk's hands unable to hold himself steady, he falls forward, face turning into the wall as he is fucked harder, his breath growing even more shallow despite himself.

"See? Doesn't this feel fucking incredible?" Dean asks rhetorically since he _knows_ he won't receive an answer back. No, Punk's too stuck in fucking bliss to form a coherent sentence. Talking always came easy for Dean during sex, though. It was a goddamn talent that he enjoyed abusing, much like he was doing with his thrusting hips.

"Doesn't it feel incredible to _surrender_ to my cock?" He asks, the bastard darkly cooing as he pushes his weight further into Punk, driving into him with a particularly, knife sharp thrust. Sedulously, Dean's cock never leaves Punk's ass out of such gnawing sensation that's drawing whines from Punk. Whines are the only form he could answer in since he's still restraining himself from moaning, concentrating on it even.

Dean's plowing Punk straight into the wall, using the stamina he's built to go faster against him, faster than Punk could even think. The grunts spilling into his eardrums are making Punk just cringe, crumble since he feels his legs already buckling beneath him. The good thing was that he didn't cum right away as soon as Dean had pushed into him, but with the pleasure becoming more and more intense by the second, he's getting there too easily. His cock just grinding up into the wall as his body is shaking like a fucking earthquake doesn't help any either. The sensations that the both of them are enduring can't leave them into reminisce about anything, they're just getting lost in one another as Dean's cock is becoming lost in Punk's ass. In and out. Buried deep each and every time. If he thought that Dean's sweat was dripping onto him earlier, he was mistaken since he felt their slick bodies attempting to intertwine, but they filled as flesh slammed down into flesh. Punk even feels pain in his neck since his head is still craned against the wall, turned since he's being drilled so perfectly that it has nowhere else to go.

Dean moves from licking at Punk's neck, moving to where he could nip onto Punk's jawline, steal kisses onto his face as Punk takes everything. _Takes it all_. He just has to, it feels too good and he's moving his sore ass straight into the hell that he wants to envelop him. Dean's hips are rampant, wanting more from Punk that he's just going to get as he releases Punk's wrists so that he could place them palm down onto the wall in front of them. Surprisingly, such a move gives Dean exactly the strength that he needs, surging his cock with a near brutal pressure that makes Punk yelp with no repent being evident whatsoever. It's like the action just drove the hesitance out of Punk as he's pushed further down into his needs and how he wants to permanently live there.

Punk's cock swells until his cum can't be held back, splattering and gushing into the wall as well as part of his abdomen as his legs give out on him. He literally almost sinks to the floor in his crumbling, but Dean's arms are quickly wrapped around his waist, slowing down the pace of his hips. Punk's canal had convulsed in aftershocks around Dean, squeezing him tighter that makes Dean's mouth widen in pure ecstasy. Just as Punk uses the wall for support, he's pulled off of it, ass sinking down _hard_ onto Dean as he lets out another yelp.

"We're not done. Not until _I_ say," he growls into his ear, not caring if the other man is spent.

Punk's body is aching, on pure fire as his lust filled mind doesn't even have much protest to offer. He's just panting as he tries to speak. "I can't… Dean… please.." Punk begs in a voice that sounds foreign to him, so dry yet so needy that it just gives away that he needs more of that pleasure, as spent as his body fucking is.

Dean hushes him, his attention far from deficit as he helps Punk walk with his cock still buried deep inside. He leads their sweaty bodies to in front of the hotel's mirror, bending Punk over the nightstand in front of it. As Punk is panting, hot breath coating the glass in front of him, trying to regain a sense of where he is until Dean's at it again, shaking the entire thing as Punk's reflection fucking shakes and vibrates. His eyes shut from the overwhelming pleasure of being stretched, his bent position giving Dean a greater access to getting as deeper than he fucking imagined. The frame of the mirror is colliding into the wall now, Dean's eyes widened as he stares at the unstable glass, watching Punk's face as it contorts in undwindling, mind blowing euphoria.

Dean keeps watching, head tilting sadistically as he rotates his hips, causing a loud strangled moan to break through Punk's throat. Fuck, Dean's unable to tear his gaze away, finding it erotic as Punk is going through the motions of being _fucked_. And Dean's doing that to him. His snapping hips are erratic, yes, but Dean knows for sure that he could give Punk _more_. There's just something that he wants first. "You look fucking amazing taking my cock." Dean leans forward, his hands gripping the wooden edge at either side of Punk's body as Punk's hands are sprawled on the surface. He's just fucking losing it, he's hard all over again, painfully hard.

Dean's hand dropped underneath, finding Punk's cock to pump him along with his thrusts. Jesus fucking Christ, Punk is glad his stomach is on the nightstand since his knees are buckling yet again. "Look at yourself." Dean purrs, deep as he runs his tongue along his own lips.

All he receives back are slutty moans. The other hand that was at the edge manages to leave from there, tangling his fist into Punk's hair to pull his head up. " _Fucking. Look."_ Dean growls, staring at Punk's still closed eyes. Punk is reeling, slowly lifting his eyelids. His face is tinted crimson, sweat falling down his face as his mouth is changing in shape constantly, due to his own noises being released. Seeing himself like this… and looking up to see Dean's wild eyes, tongue shifting over his own lips that are grinning even through his shallow, fast paced breathing as strands shake in front of his vision. Punk's soooo close yet again.

"I said look at yourself. Not at me," Dean scolds him, pulling onto his hair again. Punk does as he's told, looking back into his own eyes and face as he tried to gulp through the desert that dries his throat.

"Good, baby. Good." Dean's tongue rolls over the upper portion of his teeth as he just _watches_ and _stares._ He wants more. He just can't fucking get enough of Punk. When Punk came violently onto the wall, he knew he had to keep getting them both fucked until they were both aching. Hell, Dean could feel the muscles in his abdomen protesting, but he didn't care. He feels _alive._

"Surrender to my cock." Shit… _fuck._ Dean can't be serious… actually, Dean is always serious. Just constantly amused. But _always_ serious.

"Uhhhnnn… Dean…" Punk moans out, eyes shifting closed again until he forces them back open. He's so hard in Dean's pumping hand, so spent but he feels like he's going to explode as Dean continues to pound his hips into Punk.

"Say it," he lets out. " _Say it."_ Dean is huffing, will being tested as he lets his hand jerk over Punk's cock faster, matching his ongoing rhythm even better somehow. They're not even following a tempo since they're in so many different beats.

His head leaned forward, at the side of Punk's head, body folded over him as he meets Punk's gaze in the mirror. There's lightning as they stare deep into each other's eyes. It's… _intense_. "Fucking _say it_."

"Or I'll stop."

Punk's eyes widen now, watching as Dean goes back to his standing position. The ball's in Punk's court now. Actually, the _heavy_ balls are slapping against his ass… there's no way that he can hold back anymore. Every pang of hesitance and resistance floats away from him, leaving all at once as he stares himself square in the pleasure contorting face. It's so close to the glass of the mirror that he's surprised his face isn't mashing into it. Oh right, Dean has him tightly by the hair, preventing that from happening. What Dean can't prevent is Punk's breath steaming into it as the fog appearance disappears and appears rapidly. Such heavy breathing, so deprived of his breath as he mewls and whines.

"... I surrender," is all Punk manages to finally let out in a high pitch. That's all that happened before Dean starts ruthlessly pounding away, hips pummeling into him, cock jabbing and thrumming repeatedly at his prostate.

If that wasn't enough, then surely Dean's hands on Punk's hips to pull him to meet thrust for thrust was _more_ than enough. They're both cursing at this point, obscenities fleeing from their mouths as Punk is falling apart. Dean's hands roam from Punk's hips, straightening Punk's body erect. His hips are brutal as he lets his hand drop down to Punk's cock, knowing he's close. He aims it, perfectly so, poignantly at the mirror as Punk fucking _screams._

His load is gushed into the mirror, spurt after spurt hitting the glass and falling over Dean's tightening fist. He slumps against Dean now, everything in him in complete overdrive as Dean takes a few more thrusts. Dean's cock is fucking livid with him, but _oh so fucking worth it._ He finally cums as Punk's walls squeeze him in a death grip, causing Dean to groan in relief and delicious pleasure.

The two collapse into the bed as Dean has enough strength to lead them there. Dean's body is on Punk's settled between his thighs, his limp cock pressing into both he and Dean's stomach. Dean chuckles dryly, reaching down to pull off the overworked condom from his cock, tossing it aside. They just lay there for a while, Punk's eyes shifting closed as Dean is dropping open mouth kisses to his neck.

Sufficient time passes to where Dean is starting to get up, but Punk uses his arms to wrap at Dean's neck, pulling his mouth down into his. The surprise only lasts for a couple of seconds before Dean kisses him back, lips molding as he lets all of his weight settle down onto Punk. Dean's tongue clashes with Punk's, passion flowing as it just gets more heated, more sloppy as they completely consume one another.

It's Punk that has to pull away for air, looking at the darkness that crossed Dean's eyes. He wonders if his lips look swollen. "Don't go. You don't have to.. You can stay here."

It's… odd. Yet, Dean can't deny how endearing it is. _Fuck_. He's in so much trouble. But then again, when isn't Dean in trouble?

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," he growls, getting the both of them under the sheets with Punk on top of him. Least there wasn't any cum all over them this time. Made things immensely more comfortable with the two bare underneath. Punk doesn't realize it, but he's holding onto Dean, clinging to his warmth.

"Were you really going to leave earlier?" Punk asks, eyes closed as his head is against Dean's neck. Dean's palms are at Punk's ass, massaging the bare flesh as he teasingly runs his fingertips at his entrance. Punk tenses, kissing Dean's neck in earnest.

Dean merely laughs, trying to remain cool and smug. "No. I knew you'd give in. Wasn't going to stop either. You're just always so _easy_ for me." Punk would've scoffed maybe another time… but he's exhausted and… finding comfort in Dean? In his words too? Instead of being pissed off?

"Let's sleep, yeah?" And suddenly, Dean isn't so nervous anymore, letting his guard down as he breathes, bringing a hand up to tilt Punk's chin up to him. Their mouths are together in an instant, greedily taking from one another, Dean swallowing gasps that Punk tries to take. When Punk finally gets his mouth away, Dean's nibbling at his lips still, tongue favoring the lip ring.

"Yeah. Deal."


End file.
